Making a Fool of Time
by ElMarquis
Summary: Time is eternal, but magic has ways of going against it. Harry is thrown from battle to battle, and time is no longer eternal, but shifting. By the wand and the sword, he intends to return, alive, to his own time. Story based on a one-shot from my 'Mini-Fics'
1. Chapter 1

Harry raced through the seemingly never-ending corridors of the Department of Mysteries. Strewn behind him were heaps of rubble from vicious curses launched both by him and the Death Eaters pursuing him. Neville, Luna, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were all unconscious, he'd stunned them and hidden them in a room to draw the attention of their enemies away from them, onto him.

Ignoring the way that the corridors ceased being tiled, becoming darkened caves, Harry raised a weak light on the end of his wand and kept running until he skidded into what seemed to be an immense hall. Curled at the centre was an immense statue of a basilisk with two smaller statues of robed humans attacking it. One had thrust a sword through the snake's throat, holding a mirror in his empty hand and the other, a distinctly female figure had embedded a Dane Axe deep in its flesh. But he had no time to spend admiring ancient carvings.

Settling behind the tail of the snake, as he'd found the room to be a dead end, Harry watched and waited. It didn't take long for the group of Death Eaters to arrive. Lestrange, Lestrange, female deranged Lestrange, Crabbe Senior, Goyle Senior, Mal-ferret Senior, Avery, Nott, Jugson, Travers, Macnair and Rookwood.

Dolohov would have been joining them had in not been for the fact that he currently was residing in the Room of Time with a thousand glass shards summoned _through_ his body. The prophecy was no longer in Harry's possession, so what they were doing was futile. He'd hurled the orb through the Veil of Death, a fitting end given what he suspected it would say.

Avery barrelled straight into the room, at which point Harry moved so that only his eyes and wand protruded above the snake statue, launching a whispered blasting curse straight at Avery. It flew true, creating an immense shockwave which reduced Avery to a molecular level.

Not sure whether to be sick or not, Harry ducked behind the snake before retaliatory curses could been heard. Then there was a sudden crackling roar, as in lightning bursting nearby. He curiously peered over the snake to see Travers lying on the ground, small sparks crackling over him, his hair scorched off for the most-part, evidently electrocuted. One of tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber, stood on either side of Mal-ferret was about to advance, apparently body-guarding made you immensely stupid.

"No, don't." Malfoy hissed; "Blood wards... yet there is only one person here, and he hasn't been here for long enough to set such a powerful set of them."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

"There must be someone, living, here who shares Potter's bloodline closely enough..." Malfoy hissed. Harry suddenly understood. Blood wards had to be anchored on a relative... and yet who was here.

He felt a faint wind brush through the huge hall, from sources unknown, but then noticed the robes of the two killing the stone basilisk lift slightly.

"Basilisk slayers..." Harry whispered; "Basilisk..."

He looked at the faces of the two slayers and realised they were both wearing crude crystal glasses, tinted a pink colour. For some strange, unknown reason, he couldn't register any details of the features he could see under the shadows of their hoods. Harry shook his head and reached into the internally-expanded pouch, in the black robe he was wearing, that he'd carried for several years. Inside was a small potions kit he kept stocked with healing potions... and mandrake restorative draught.

Arming himself with two vials of the restorative potion, he slid around the snake so that he still had some cover from the Death Eaters who were bombarding the shield, at the entrance to the hall, with curses. The first he reached was the woman, whose mouth was slightly open, which allowed him to pour a small amount of the restorative into her mouth. Slowly, it began to relax her jaw, allowing him to empty the entire vial into her mouth.

Grinning at the irony of the basilisk being petrified by its own stare, Harry moved over to the man. His mouth was shut tightly in a grimace. Frowning slightly, Harry contemplated what to do before ripping of his tie and soaking it in some of the restorative before gently using it to sponge the man's jaw until it ceased being petrified. That gave him room to pour the contents of the vial into his mouth.

Sinking behind the petrified basilisk, Harry watched as the two sank to the floor, the woman coughing and choking as her lungs breathed for the first time in... he didn't know how long. He drew his wand back out from his pocket and gestured at her, summoning her over and quickly performing a charm to clear the patient's airways that he'd learnt from Madam Pomfrey. Harry repeated the process with the man and slowly they recovered.

"Long are the years... since I have breathed air. The darkness is everything that I have experienced through time immemorial, why am I awakened?!" the woman demanded, her melodic voice entrancing Harry, finding involuntarily, secrets were slipping off his tongue.

"There are a group of terrorists, murderous rebels, after me because I had a prophecy sphere relating to me and their leader, who has tried to kill me repeatedly. I stunned my friends and hid them in a room, this is my battle to face, not theirs." Harry said immediately; "I threw the prophecy through the Veil of Death, so their effort is in vain. I woke you for help, and because I did not wish to leave anyone petrified when they seemed to have been battling a dark creature, such as the basilisk naturally is because of the way the maker must imprint a dark soul onto the creature."

"You know your stuff boy." grunted the male, hoisting himself up to draw his sword from the petrified snake; "Stay out of the way while we deal with these murderers."

"Wait..." the woman said, reaching out with pale fingers which she ran down Harry's face; "I am sorry..."

She swung her wand at him in her otherhand, and faster than he could react, a silver light burst from the tip, encompassing him, winding like a spider's web around his body. Harry felt untold agony, he arched his back in pain before collapsing in a shower of silvery dust which faded into nothingness, leaving no trace of him behind, he had vanished.

The woman sighed sadly.

"Morgana... he will be... I am... better for what you have done." said the man.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry screamed as the silver light encompassed him, then he was abruptly silenced as he felt the world crushing in on him like a million tons of hot steel being poured on him. Then the sensation was gone, he hadn't gone insane from the pain. Silently, he flexed his magic, summoning a longsword and matching dagger into each hand, looking around.

The time spent within the Room of Requirement over the last academic year had not been wasted. Harry had spent hours outside of D.A meetings exercising and practising with both magic and sword, the latter of which he had purchased through Gringotts from a non-magical swordsmith in Avila, Spain, along with the matching dagger. It had then gone to the Bank's Cursebreaking department who were willing, for a fee, to add a few enchantments to it.

A few weeks after the formation of the D.A and his beginning to use the Room of Requirement in his own time, Harry picked up a few books about sword-fighting and mentally visualised a semi-sentient humanoid ballistic gel training dummy to spar with, putting a few hours a day into blade-work, not just magic. Harry learnt not to ask too many questions about the magic of Hogwarts as the room continued to adapt for him, and frankly if he could get close enough to a wizard and cut them down with a sword... he wouldn't complain at all.

The sword itself had a plain blade of three feet with a double fuller, a grip wrapped in dark green-black basilisk hide he'd scavenged from the Chamber of Secrets, a simple cross-guard without any adornments and a single decoration, a wolf's head pommel. Magically lightened, toughened and sharpened, it felt perfect for him, indeed so was the dagger, an identical weapon in all but size.

Harry felt a tumbling sensation, holding onto the sword and hoping he would have a chance to get a go at the woman who had cursed him. His fall was suddenly halted, causing him to black out before gently being lowered onto the earth by a cushion of air created by his subconscious magic.

* * *

Awakening to the smell of burning wood, with flame flickering in the gloomy night, Harry struggled to his feet, checking he had everything. Looking around, he found himself in a woodland clearing, with the faint glow of fire glowing through the trees. His black robe-covered basilisk hide armour meant that he could move through the darkness with great stealth.

However, as he was nearing the edge of the woodland, a young woman came racing past, pursued by a powerfully-built man with a long, braided beard, a metal skull-cap ringed with fur. With an axe raised in one hand and a shield in the other, his purpose was clear.

Stepping out, Harry drew his sword, and in one smooth movement, sliced horizontally across the Norseman's belly. Like a red-hot knife cutting lard, it sliced through the thin leather armour and bit deep into his flesh. Despite having killed before with Quirrel, he was nearly sick as blood spurted out of the Viking's stomach.

He didn't pause as more screams came from beyond the trees. Hitting himself with a wandless translation charm which would allow him to understand and be understood, Harry raced out. Down the hill from the woodland was a small village of a few dozen thatch, wattle and daub huts and a single long hall encompassed by a wooden ring-fence.

It didn't take long for Harry to realise what had happened. Cursing his usual levels of luck, he strode down the hill, to the unguarded gate to the compound. Inside was chaos. The population of the village was being herded into the centre around an elegantly-carved Celtic cross while the Nordic raiders torched everything else.

Racing across the short distance to the nearest group of Vikings, he brought his sword down in a blow that split the helmet and skull of one. Harry brought it up in front of his head, point facing to his left, to block an axe-blow identical to the sword-blow he had just delivered. Then as the Norseman brought his axe back up, he swung the sword down and around, slicing from right to left across the axeman's belly. Warding off a spear-thrust from a third Nord with the side of his blade, he drew his dagger and plunged it into the spear-bearer's stomach before withdrawing it, flipping it around in his hand and plunging it into his opponent's heart.

The last of the group of four fell as Harry once again withdrew the dagger and hurled it with deadly accuracy into his throat. With the small blade returned to him by a wandless summoning charm, he strode onward. Sad to see the last defender cut down, an elderly man wielding an old, chipped sword against the Vikings, Harry continued his fast, brutal counter-attack.

Two blows hacked a V-shaped chunk out of a round wooden shield before his leg snapped up and wrenched it out of his opponent's grip, snapping a bone in the Viking's arm as he did so. Harry winced at the sound of breaking bone, but lunged forward anyway, the lunge dispatching his opponent. Spinning out of the way of a charging Nord, he stuck out his foot and tripped him, plunging his sword into the back of the fallen man. His heart hardened by the sight of a slaughtered family of a young man, a woman and a child lying outside their burning hall house, Harry moved forward.

His blade cut straight through a spear-haft held at head-height in a pathetic attempt to block his blow, continuing down through the thick bone of the skull. Kneeling to avoid a beheading blow, Harry thrust his dagger into the back of the forward leg of the attacker before decapitating him with a savage swing.

He was pleased to see the villagers rise up, wrestling weapons off the remaining Vikings, cutting them down savagely. They were not without loss, but still fought fiercely, rallying around the black-clad warrior who fearlessly fought for them.

* * *

Sighing tiredly, Harry leaned back in his great wooden chair. Since the skirmish, twice more the village had been attacked, and it had been but weeks since his arrival. It turned out the elderly man who fell defending them with a chipped blade was the elder of the village. Not a lord, nor a knight, but simply the protector. The local people had decided that he was the best choice to protect them.

Rising from the high-backed chair, he strapped on his sword-belt and picked up an axe. Powerfully-built he may not have been, but with the amount of wood needed, no hand could be spared for long. With only two-dozen residents, they all had to pull their weight.

He'd so-far avoided conspicuous use of magic, and if a bit of his physical strength could bring down a tree, he would be of use.

Four weeks of tree-cutting. Hacking a wedge-shaped cut into the wood with axes and then sawing it down. Harry found that even his long hours of magical and non-magical training weren't as effective at getting him into shape as this was. The ring-fence was strengthened and greatly enlarged as several families joined the small community.

One of them was one Harry was most glad of. Delivering lengths of yew to the family, they were delivered back days later to the hall as longbows. Small hunting parties provided meat while the ash-saturated ground became fertile to grow plants for eating. If wood was too weak for the palisades, the wrong kind for bows or arrow-shafts, it was either stored or burnt, providing warmth and allowing meat to be cooked.

A separate part of the ring-fenced enclosure was set aside for live-stock, a few sheep, cows, pigs and chicken, while much of their food was game meat and fish from the nearby estuary and the sea less than a mile away. They scavenged all of the weapons from the raid and put them to use, while the boats which were easily found a few miles down the coast, were traded with other coastal communities in return for supplies.

* * *

Moving quickly and nearly silently, dressed in a simple black tunic, breeches and boots, Harry moved from tree to tree. He'd been tracking a deer for hours. Raising his longbow with an arrow resting on the fist gripping the shaft of the bow, he saw the animal in a woodland clearing.

A sudden noise startled it, though not soon enough to save it from one of Harry's arrows. As soon as the animal had ceased twitching and fallen to the ground, dead, he moved forward. In the centre of the woodland clearing was a small pool. Having removed the arrow from the animal and cleaned it, returning it to his quiver, he carefully moved to where the sound had come from.

Curled into the reeds at the edge of the pool was a child, not much more than a babe with tufts of blond hair, wrapped in swaddling clothes. Laying at the child's side, blood oozing from wounds days old, was an elderly woman... a nurse or a grandmother he assumed.

Sighing sadly, he moved the child further from the pool and dug a shallow grave for the woman, laying her to rest with nothing but a small cairn of stones to mark her resting place. Using a bit of magic to help the child up to sleep, he raised a horn made from bone, a clear note sounding out across the forests and glades.

About half-an-hour later, the rest of the hunting party joined him, sat by the dead deer, nursing the sleeping child.

"Aelfwick, is there any amongst the villagers who might take in a lost child?" he asked.

"I can sir, my wife of three years wishes to be with child, yet cannot." Aelfwick replied.

Making a mental note to see if he could remember or create some magic to assist them, Harry handed the child to him, turning to help the hunters sling the deer from a wooden pole by its cloven hooves.

"Sir?" asked a voice.

Harry turned around from pacing by the fire in the hall, a long, low building of wood and thatch. A few charms made sure that none of the sparks touched the frame of the building or its roof. It was just an hour or two from sunset and he'd continued slaving away, reinforcing the village and making their survival possible.

"Yes?" he replied as one of the men charged with the defence of the small settlement moved forward.

"Lookouts have spotted raiders coming in from the sea." the guardsman answered

"How long?" Harry snapped.

"They should arrive at sundown."

"Excellent, move out any man who can fire an arrow with any accuracy." ordered Harry; "If we can catch them between the sea and the land I would be most glad."

"Sir, I'm not sure that would be well-advised." said the guard hesitantly.

"Explain." he demanded.

"The lookout believes they brought two mages. It is times like this that the people wish we had our own mages." replied the guardsman.

"How do the people feel about mages?" Harry asked, finally having a chance to probe their feelings; "I have heard tales of them being hounded out of their homes simply for the abilities they carry."

"Nothing bad, the old village headsman was the son of a mage and many had good memories of him." said the guard.

"You'll move the archers down to whatever cover overlooks the landing place. I'll see that the mages are dealt with." Harry said coldly.

"If you wish sir." nodded the guardsman doubtfully

"I am no idiot, I shall see that they do us no harm." Harry swore.

* * *

There was no doubt in the hearts of the defenders as their leader moved onto the beach, a spear clutched in his right hand and his sword slung at his side. With a simple black robe thrown over his basilisk leather armour and a feral grin on his face, despite the overwhelming odds he was about to face. No, there was no doubt in the minds of the villagers, that despite he was apparently intent on killing himself, that somehow there leader would manage to pull through.

The Nordic longships grounded themselves, two of them. Immediately, a horse leapt from the bow of each, charging at the lone figure on the wave-swept beach. Harry took two paces forward, jabbing the spear at the first rider, grimacing as it vibrated from hitting plate armour. He did succeed in unhorsing the first rider. Pulling his arm back, he flung the spear at the second rider, watching in grim satisfaction as it pierced whatever armour he was wearing, sending him crashing onto the sand with it embedded through his lower neck.

Drawing his sword, he watched a hail of arrows falling on the boats and their occupants, and was nearly distracted when the rider he'd unhorsed, but not killed, attacked him. Blocking a sword-blow aimed at his left side with a point-down parry, Harry retaliated with a slash aimed at his opponent's throat.

His opponent lurched back to avoid having their throat cut open and possibly losing their head. Harry was a bit bemused when a sheet of black hair and a distinctly feminine face emerged from under the helmet that was thrown off by the movement. He did not pause, lunging at her with his sword clutched in two hands, immediately moving back and raising his sword to a horizontal block above his head as she pushed his attack aside and swung at his head.

Harry was wary, but still somewhat unprepared when she launched a lightning bolt at him from just feet away, a wand hidden behind the circular shield on her left arm. However, it did not stop him from rolling under the magical attack, cutting at her feet and springing back to his own. He retaliated by moving in quickly and slamming his shoulder into her to cover the red flash of a wandless stunning spell.

'One-nil, hasta la vista baby.' Harry mentally crowed. Capturing her would be useful, if he could find a way to keep her controlled. He didn't pause, running straight into the advancing raiders. The first fell to a cut across the stomach, the second was killed as Harry tripped him and stabbed him in the back as he fell. For ten minutes, he rampaged as archers picked off the raiders one by one.

However, the whole time, he mused, finding it strange that every raider was male, except the one mage. There was the possibility that witches and wizards were so few and far between that any with magic had to come, or that she was accompanying a member of a family on the attack.

* * *

Harry paced around his shackled prisoner, feeling a bit sick at what he was about to do. His first masterwork of magic would be used for what he saw as a sickening purpose. Slowly, he sank into his high-backed chair, not even looking at her, his face half-hidden in the shadow. A twinge from his magic sensed her awakening and trying to escape the chains, yet they were magic resistant and she wouldn't be getting out. Suppressing his distinctly negative feelings about what he saw as his only course of action, he decided to begin his little game of manipulation.

"Don't bother." he said softly, using a translation charm; "You can't escape."

"And what do you want." she hissed.

"An offer." Harry replied coldly, removing a small chest from under his high-backed chair; "My people have lost much to raiders such as you, but here is my offer."

"Get on with it." she spat.

"You can fight me for your freedom. We know how your last fight went with me, and if you defeat me, there are my men stood around outside. I can let you go, you run and my men outside will catch you, use you and dispose of you as they see fit. Then there are two more options. In this chest is a lethal poison, I'm told it's a very painful death but it was all I could create with such short notice. Finally, there is a choker, enchanted to bind the wearer to me, unable to do me harm and if I give an order with the intent that it be followed as I say, it will be followed, also, it binds you to my life-force, I live, you live, I die, you die."

He kept an eye on her facial expressions, deciding that a final hammer-blow was needed to drive the nail in.

"That is the one way you survive. I'll repeat, there's almost certainly die at my hand or kill me and die at the hands of my men in whatever fashion they see fit. Then there is the being let go, only to die at their hands in whatever fashion they see fit. Then there is the painful death from the poison. Finally, there is subservience and continued life."

"Your choice." Harry added emotionlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

"You ready?" Harry asked from under the dark hood of his flowing black robe.

The woman stood next to him grinned savagely, easily twirling a Dane Axe in one hand. They were both clad in the same flowing black robes, but underneath, he wearing a gleaming, burnished steel cuirass, backed with light basilisk hide, vambraces, rerebraces and greaves, with boots fashioned from the same basilisk hide. She was wearing a simple hauberk under a short-sleeved tunic, a half-plackart of small overlapping plates of metal and basilisk-hide padded trousers and boots, a simple, lighter armour than what her basilisk-battling partner was wearing.

Harry reached up with the sword he'd pulled from the petrified basilisk and gave the statue an almost affectionate tap with the flat of the blade, the sound ringing through the basilisk's hall.

"So long mate."

He'd never forgotten some of his rather more sarcastic comments, even in times where the words were never used.

"Who are you!" Malfoy demanded as the two walked towards the massed Death Eaters before making a most generous offer, in his mind; "Hand over Potter now and we may leave you alive."

"Malfoy... Bad Faith, you are ever an obnoxious arrogant swine." Harry chuckled, silently taking a conjured spear from Morgana as she moved forward a few paces.

Tossing aside her axe, she knelt down on a flat piece of rock, releasing her wand from a leather bracer on the inside of her right arm.

" _Rita medh hyrr or run._ " she whispered in the Old Norse; 'Write with fire of our runes.'

A pink-tinged white fireball appeared at the tip of her wand, and with the silent Death Eaters watching, and Harry simply surveying them with contempt, Morgana began to scorch runes on the rocks with the fire. A rectangle first emerged, then she added two trident-like marks to the outside each corner of the rectangle. Then finally, three circles inside the rectangle with a trident on the top and the bottom of each. Then with a flick of her hand, she dispelled the Runic Fire

" _Sva ek kalla!_ " Morgana cried; 'Thus I declare!'

The unbinding mark was complete, and with her magic, having bound the wards to Harry's blood, unbound them and sent them crashing into oblivion. Her partner was already moving, the conjured spear leaving his hand in a powerful over-hand throw. It fell through the space formerly occupied by the translucent barrier of the blood wards, only having entered the visible spectrum when the attacking Death Eaters had begun to bombard them with magic.

Goyle stared stupidly down and the wooden shaft of the weapon protruding from his chest, his arms trying to reach for it, as if to pull it out. Then slowly, he sighed and slumped to the ground.

"Who in Merlin's name are you?" demanded Malfoy.

"Me." Harry replied, smirking as he pushed back his hood. One of the many gifts of the Druids was the ability to shapeshift the body both within and outwith the human species, and he momentarily flexed his magic, forming his body into that of himself at sixteen years old.

Morgana gave him a sour look as she stood up. She never gained an affinity for the more complex Druidic magics, though her skill as a battle mage was unmatched, it still stung. Then all hell broke loose. The Order of the Phoenix stormed in through one of the two cave entrances, and the pale, serpentine form of Tom Riddle came through the second. Everyone froze for a second before hurling spells in every direction.

Dashing forward, Harry parried away a spell aimed for Tonks, responding with a jet of orange flames. Within moments of him letting up the spell, he came face to face with the Ministry of Magic's grim executioner, Walden Macnair, brandishing a Bardiche poleaxe, heavily enchanted. It had evidently been able to brush aside his fire as the wall where the executioner had angled the blade of his weapon was well-scorched.

"Ready to die boy?" he sneered, brandishing a the Bardiche before lifting it in a powerful overhead swing.

Harry stepped to one side, his wand coming up and pulsing thrice, three point-and-cast piercing curses being projected from the tip in a mere half-a-second. Macnair slammed spun around, bringing his axe between him and the spells. The first dissipated against the blade, the second he deflected into the wall behind him and the third he batted back at Harry, followed by a wandlessly cast bludgeoning hex.

"Little boy Potter wants to play does he?" Macnair chuckled.

Silently, 'little boy Potter' slapped the returned piercing curse into a wall and caught the bludgeoning hex with a twirl of his wand, spinning it around back at Macnair, who had closed the distance and lunged at him with the tip of the bardiche. Harry leapt forward, robe swirling about him.

With his empty left hand, he grabbed the poleaxe and, with a momentary pause to push magic to his muscles and bones, pushed it up at Macnair's face. Suddenly with irresistible force pushing the weapon towards him, the executioner let go of the weapon and stepped back. With contempt visible on his face, Harry slowly crushed the shaft of the weapon until, with a _snap_ that somehow was heard over the sound of spellfire, it broke. Throwing aside the head of the weapon, Harry kicked the snapped shaft with his boot, slowly moving towards Walden Macnair with a dark look on his face.

The battle resumed with Macnair spinning his wand to face Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!" he growled.

With uncanny precision, Harry caught his toe under the axehead and kicked it up with sufficient force to launch it into the path of the curse. The green spell smashed into the gleaming blade and suddenly, the battle froze again as a wail like that of a banshee, yet of pain and anguish, not anger, tore at the ears of the fighters.

"NO! YOU FOOL! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Macnair shrieked.

"Walden..." hissed Voldemort, breaking the sudden silence of the frozen battle; "I didn't think you had it in you... I am truly interested to know where you learnt to create such an... artefact."

"My lord, I d-d-didn't mean- the book was j-j-just l-lying the-e-e-re." stuttered Macnair.

"Avada Kedavra."

The spell rushed from the wand of the uncaring-looking Voldemort, streaming past Harry and slamming into the pathetic, begging former executioner and former Death Eater. Macnair was blasted into the stone wall, where he remained, slumped. An ex-Death Eater indeed. Harry kept his own wand at the ready as Riddle eyed him for a moment before turning to continue engaging Dumbledore in a duel.

Sirius raced over as soon as he was free of his own fight, blasting Avery into the stone basilisk with a banishing spell. He skidded to a halt next to Harry, flinging up a shield.

"Harry! Listen to me! Where are the others?" Sirius demanded.

"Safe, I stunned the stubborn gits and left them in a room behind some nasty hexes should anyone try and break in." Harry replied, remembering what he had done a lifetime before.

"Get them and get out of here!" ordered Sirius.

"Like there's a cat's hope in hell that I'll do that." Harry laughed, catching a nasty flaying hex with the tip of his wand and slinging it back at the caster, Bellatrix Lestrange, who was embroiled in a duel with Alastor Moody.

"What?" said Sirius, momentarily confused.

"Non-magical saying, means the answer's no." replied Harry, rolling his eyes; "Less talking, more cursing."

Rookwood slammed Hestia Jones into a stalagmite and charged at them, eyes flashing and wand spewing curses as Jugson and Nott joined him. Sirius muttered an oath under his breath before loosing a tongue-tying curse of sufficient power to force-feed the recipient their own tongue, before ducking behind a shield.

Harry advanced forward at a blistering pace, wielding his wand like a rapier, flicking curses away from him, heedless of those that blasted coin-sized holes in his robe. That could be replaced. He flicked his wand at Jugson, creating what was in effect an invisible bungee lasso.

Suddenly the magic tensed, like a spring, then Harry cut off the spell. The sudden release of tension sent Jugson sailing twenty feet into the air before being bowled into one of the cave walls. Not letting up the pace, Harry tumbled into the second Death Eater, driving his shoulder into Nott, sending them both tumbling to the hard rock of the cave floor.

Nott, his wand having fallen from his hand went for Harry's neck with both hands. In response, Harry shifted his head to that of a huge wolf, snapping his saliva-dripping jaws at Nott's throat, trying to tear it open with what seemed to the terrified Death Eater to be a hundred fangs.

"What are you?!" he whispered, terrified, as he tried to push the wolf-man away.

"You're off the edge of the map mate." Harry rasped through the vocal chords of a wolf; "Here there be monsters."

Never anger a Druid. One of Harry's hands crept to his belt and drew a long, single-fuller double-edged Scramasax short-sword and drove it up through the ribcage of his opponent. Nott stilled, ceasing to struggle as Harry's head returned to human form. You really should never anger a Druid.

He turned to Sirius, who had his back to him, exchanging a blaze of spellfire with the former Unspeakable, Rookwood. Smoothly parrying a nasty limb-severing hex with the blade of the Scramasax, Harry opened his side of batting with 'discutio', a bone shattering curse.

Rookwood had to duck under that one and simultaneously slam up a concave shield as Sirius tried to roast him with Fiendfyre. It was ironic that the unwanted Black heir, who was unofficially disowned by his own mother, and had himself unofficially disowned his own family, was such a skilled wielder of the darker shades of magic. And utterly ruthless.

Rookwood's shield buckled under the strain of the constant pounding of the ferocious beasts of fire erupting from Sirius's wand, though the caster himself was feeling the strain. Harry was free to act, and paused a moment before crying out;

"Fulmine mortem!"

A jagged bolt of lightning, blinding to the eye, leapt from the tip of his wand, branching out into five arms of electricity, driving themselves into the shield, which collapsed, and moments later, the rampaging Fiendfyre beasts leapt on Rookwood, devouring him without mercy, his magic only serving to fuel the flames.

Harry whispered a curse which he launched straight into the Fiendfyre, helping subdue it as Sirius was tiring quickly. Within moments, they had it under control, and a short time later, the last flickers retreated into the wand. Exchanging a quick glance, they advanced into the thick of the fight.

Morgana had Harry's own longsword in her right hand and a wand in her left, locked in a furious fight with Lucius Malfoy who was wielding a side-sword in his right hand and a wand in his left, matching each-other cut for thrust and hex for curse. Next to them lay Rabastan Lestrange, a wound opened the length and breadth of his torso from his left shoulder to his right hip.

Riddle and Dumbledore were circling one-another, wands occasionally jumping up to launch spells, testing each-other's defences while Remus stood over the stunned Crabbe, fighting Rudolphus Lestrange to a stop next to Alastor Moody, who was beating off Bellatrix Lestrange. Shacklebolt and Tonks were engaged in a fierce firefight with Travers, who had overcome being mildly electrocuted, and Mulciber.

"Come! There's plenty to go round!" yelled Sirius, madness alight in his eyes.

Harry cast him a worried look. Whether the madness was something hereditary, something only Sirius gained in a fight or something he'd gained through Azkaban, he'd be keeping an eye on the man. However, there was no time for that at the present, as the fight was still raging. Travers was the first to fall, quite literally. Harry and Sirius simultaneously caught him with levitation charms and drove him onto the needle-like tip of a stalactite and sent him over a foot up the rocky protrusion. Then slowly, with a sickening noise, gravity pulled him free and sent him tumbling to the cave floor.

With only Lestrange, Lestrange, Malfoy and Mulciber left active on Voldemort's side, the tide of the battle was turning. Then it became worse, Morgana parried away a flesh-eating curse from Malfoy with a charm from her wand before enveloping his sword with the one she had taken from Harry. She then drove her mail-clad fist into his temple, sending him to the ground. She was about to drive the sword into him when Riddle summoned him away. That was the moment that the Aurors and a handful of Unspeakables burst into the chamber.

One Auror was nearly beheaded by a severing curse from Bellatrix when an Unspeakable spun around, a solid metal shield appearing for a moment and taking the curse, scoring it heavily. Then the shield vanished and spells began to be exchanged in a fierce exchange of fire, but now the Death Eaters were heavily outnumbered.

"RETREAT!" screamed Riddle, banishing Portkeys at his remaining Death Eaters and summoning those who weren't in his line of sight, banishing Portkeys as they appeared in his sight.

Harry nailed Jugson, who he wasn't sure was dead, with a trident piercing curse to the chest, while Morgana settled for a impaling curse and a bone exploding curse sent at Riddle, who disapparated before they could reach him, with his minions all vanishing as the contact Portkeys triggered, taking them with him.

"Fuckery." he cursed.

"Somehow I feel as if I should scold you for your language. But fuck it." Sirius grinned, the madness vanished from his eyes in a second. Harry blinked, then suddenly moved like a wraith, enveloping the wanted man in darkness and, when he reappeared, leaving Sirius encased in his slightly tattered hooded robe.

He wandlessly cleaned the Scramasax and sheathed it in his belt, looking up as he heard a whisper. Morgana tossed his sword at him, cleaned of the blood on it. Harry avoided the blade and caught the handle, spinning it in his hand before it vanished into nothingness. Morgana picked up her Dane Axe as the Aurors cautiously surrounded the Order of the Phoenix.


	4. Chapter 4

"Very well, _myrkr_." the woman spat, lifting her chin proudly even as he humiliated her, having dispelled her chains, by allowing her to place the choker around her own neck. It was far more of a humbling action than if he himself had bound her and placed what was essentially a collar on her neck.

"Your name?" Harry demanded.

"Sif, last of the Valkyrie and Aesir." she said, still glaring hatred at the side-profile of the man who didn't even look at her, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the fire.

"Oh?" he commented, the compulsion on the choker forcing her to answer.

"Legend has it that we bear the slain valorous to the hall of gods, legend made by the weak who fear and are in awe of our power." Sif was forced to explain; "I was the last of both lines, the Aesir being the wizards, the Valkyrie their servants, bearers of arms."

"Power such that my fear of it is so great that I run from your mere presence." said Harry wryly, undoing his sword-belt and casting it to rest against the side of his seat, noting her eyes following it; "I would strike you down before you could touch it, thus I believe it ill-advised to try."

Sif was drawn from imagining plunging the blade into her captor's heart, glancing up into his face as he finally turned to look at her. Sharp, aristocratic features rendered pale in the flickering firelight and burning emerald eyes, ones that none but one bloodline held.

"Dokkalfar!" she hissed in shock.

"What?" he demanded.

"The dark elves, a trait of their line is those eyes, they overcome any bloodline, always the same eyes. It was a line I believed undone." answered Sif as she was forced to follow the order.

Harry just looked contemplative as he seated himself before slowly commenting;

"I believe I ought to lay down a few rules. At no point will you take up arms against me, my people or any other innocent unless so ordered by me. Before you take up a weapon or anything intended to be a weapon, you will tell me and ask my permission. I will not force myself on you, nor will I allow any other to, but you will not attempt to escape my custody."

Sif took a moment to consider this. While the man opposite was utterly ruthless, it was more mercy than she could expect at the hands of any other. Certainly, that he would protect her from any reprisal and not demand the use of her body was surprising, it had been something she'd expected.

"The night draws onwards, I recommend you sleep." he added, losing some of the hardness in his gaze.

She awoke to see her captor, or master given his forced authority over her, leaning over the embers of a small fire, coaxing it back into life with pine needles and shavings of dry wood. In a matter of moments, a small flame grew amongst the shavings, and with the addition of small sticks followed by a small log, became a proper fire.

"Good morning." Harry said, still with his back to her.

"Is it?" Sif asked acidly.

"For me it is a good morning." he shrugged apathetically; "I do not care for what you make of this day, for your mind is your own, whether it controls your body or not."

She hissed, catlike, in anger at the reminder of her forced subservience.

"Truly, your generosity knows no bounds." Sif snarled.

"However," Harry continued unconcerned; "I personally recommend you break your fast, as the hours of day are fewer than we would like, and we have to achieve much in that time. Though I must thank you for the addition of two horses, they will improve life here greatly."

"Given freely." said Sif sarcastically; "Do you barbarians even know how to make a meal worthy of being consumed by anything but the lowest swine?"

"I would argue with you over being a barbarian, yet I save my breath for a subject I believe I have a chance in persuading you to see my point of view. And yes, I can cook." Harry rolled his eyes, wondering why he'd even bothered walking into the Room of Requirement. Evidently magic and fate had it out for him.

He quickly placed a small cauldron of the previous night's soup to heat over the fire.

* * *

A few hours later as Harry finished cutting down a tree with cleaving curses, he asked Sif;

"Why is it that your people attack us?"

"It has always been that way." she shrugged, having somewhat grown used to the nearly-always silent presence of the warlock who had enslaved her; "I suppose it has become part of how we survive, taking from others. I'll admit I've never given it much thought really. Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." he replied, sitting on the fallen tree-trunk.

"You effectively have enslaved me, which I'll admit to being a bit sore about. But you could have just as easily either used me, or enslaved me and then used me. Why didn't you?" said Sif.

"Mages are rare, it would be a shame to waste one, particularly a powerful one with knowledge of magic beyond that which I use, and I'll admit that my deal I forced on you made me feel sick. I was forced with a hard choice. Kill you or save you without damaging my own livelihood and that of my people." Harry answered eventually; "I also thought that a worse punishment would be having no option but to live amongst those you sought, unsuccessfully, to kill or oppress, and help them live, resisting these attacks on their freedom."

"And one day I shall break free of these bonds, and I will repay your kindness by binding you to me, instead of plunging a blade into your heart." she spat, the extent of the cunning of the man becoming clear to her.

He just shrugged apathetically, pausing by responding;

"If you find a way free of your bonds, I will release you myself. But for now, though I do feel sorrow at it, my words to you are commands."

The cold light of day rose, and soon set in the mid-late afternoon as they hauled logs into the stockade where they'd be shaved of their bark, dried and used for whatever purposes required them and to which they suited.

* * *

 **A year later:**

Harry, with five of the village's fighting fit men and Sif, who had taken the English name Morgana to help her blend in, rode out of the impressive stockade on horseback as a force of mounted men approached. Harry raised his left hand to halt his group as the leader of the approaching cavalry had his slow.

"Good health." he greeted amicably, not removing his hand from the grip of his bastard sword.

"And to you." replied the approaching man; "I am Arthur, Lord of the line of Artorius the Potter, word came to me of a defiant battle between Norse raiders and Britons in this area."

"It is the truth." Harry replied, eyeing Arthur, seeing a noticeable resemblance between them; "We are able to fend off the raiders and families from other places are willing to make their homes here and assist us."

"Then I shall assume you are the chief of this tribe?" asked Arthur.

"That is also true." allowed Harry.

"Very well, in the name of the Tribes of the Britons as their leader, I invite you to join the Council of Chiefs at my seat at Caereryr in the Cambrian Mountains, maybe fifty leagues from here." Arthur offered.

"It would be an honour." Harry said, hiding a smirk, he had a fair idea who he was dealing with; "Yet I should not leave my people behind, I expect to be able to return here and continue to lead them."

"Indeed I would have it no other way, I would not have a man desert those to whom he has a duty."


End file.
